Page 71 of The Trade
He snorts, raising one dubious brow. “You didn’t know?”
“Well, we’ve never used that particular word.”
“Okay, well . . . we’re using it now,” he says, a slight edge to his voice. “I’m your fucking boyfriend. You’re my fucking girlfriend.”
“So, that means . . . we’re exclusive?”
He gives me a pointed look. “Fuck yeah, we are.”
“Okay. And Shan?”
“What about her?”
“I know Cassidy was just trying to stir the pot.” My stomach’s churning as I force out the question. “But you didn’t have actual feelings for Shan, right?”
He pauses for a split second, then, “I didn’t.”
“I mean, I know you two were kind of flirty before, and she’s—I mean, she’s so beautiful.”
“No, I didn’t have real feelings for her. We flirted—there was nothing beyond that.”
“So, you just wanted to fuck her, then?”
His brows skyrocket. “Jade.”
“Just be honest.”
“I used to be attracted to her, yes. But that changed when I started to have feelings for you.”
Relief courses through my veins, washing away any lingering doubts. “So, you absolutely don’t want to fuck Shannon anymore?”
He winces at my blunt choice of words. “Can you stop saying that?”
“Sorry, I don’t know how else to put it.”
He takes a deep breath, his eyes locking onto mine. “Look, I don’t even see anyone else when you’re in the room. When you’re not there, I fucking wish you were. You’re the only girl for me, Jade.”
A wide smile stretches across my face, my cheeks warming, heart swelling. “Yeah?” I take a step toward him, pushing onto my tiptoes to bring my lips closer to his ear. “You should prove it, then.”
His breath hitches. “What do you mean?”
“Prove that I’m the only girl for you,” I say, my voice filled with a mix of challenge and desire. I bite my lip as I pull away from him. “Prove how much you want me and only me.”
A spark ignites in his gaze, a flicker of intensity betraying his desire. “Oh? How can I prove it?”
“I think you know.”
“Come here.” His fingers curl around my wrist as he leads me down the hallway. With a swift motion, he yanks open the door to his bedroom, urging me inside. The moment we step over the threshold, he pushes me gently against the nearest wall. “You need me to prove how much I want you?”
“Mhm.”
“Then take off your clothes,” he demands, his voice low and rough with need.
A sense of urgency takes over as I frantically remove my sweater, unhooking my bra with practiced ease. The fabric of my jeans and panties slide down my legs, pooling on the floor beneath me.
His gaze roams hungrily over my exposed body. “God, I’m so fucking obsessed with you.”
He lifts his own shirt over his head, the muscles in his abdomen bunching and rippling with every careful movement. Then he slowly inches toward me, backing me up until my legs are pressed against his dresser. His strong fingers wrap around my hips as he lifts me up and places me on the flat surface.
